News and citizen. [volume] (Morrisville, Vt. ;) 1881-current, 1887-08-11
Nine. SaintG Catherine.
A TOUCHING LITTLE INCIDENT RELATED BY
A FAMOUS NOVELIST

say unto you that there shall be more joy
IN heaven over one sinner that repenteth than
over ninety and nine righteous persons who
need no repentance.-LUKE XIV, Z.
One evening in November, on the eve
of Sainte Catharine's Day, the iron gate
of the prison at Auberive rolled back on
its hinges and gave passage to a woman
of about thirty years of age. She was
dressed in faded wooden gown and
wore on her head a white linen cap, ad-
justed In strange fashion round her pale
features, whose wan expression betrayed
long detention and meagre fare. Her
fellow prisoners had nicknamed her the
Bretonne, no doubt because she was a
native of Brittany Condemned for the
heniOus crime of infanticide, she had
been brought to the House of Detention
in a prison van exactly six years ago
and had just been set free, having served
her time.
After getting back her old clothes and
receiving at the greffe or registry the
ridieulously small sum of money set
aside for her by the prison authorities
In return for six long years of unre lit-
ting hard labor, she was at iast
once more free, with her passp rt sig d
for Langres The coach, howe yer, fol
this latter place has already left. L mid
and awkward, she directed her faltering
steps towards the nearest inn and with
n tremulous voice inquired if she could
be accommodated for the night The
inn-keeper, who little cared to house
birds of that feather" advised her to
push on to the wine shop at the other
end of the village.
The Bretonne, more awkward and
timid than before, went ON her way and
knocked at the door of the wine shop, a
mere pot-house for navvies, The publ
cans wife eyed her mistrustfully from
head to foot, and guessing that she had
Just left the Centrale. or prison, sent
her off with the excuse that she did not
take in dodgers. Not daring to insist,
dropping head, while feeling of anger
rose in her heart against those who thus
drove her from their door
She had only one thing left TO do, and
that was to reach Langres on foot.
Night, however. sets in early towards
the close Of November, 50 that darkness
soon overlook the wayfarer ON the dusky
road that extended far away through
the lonesome wood and the north wind
blew keen among the swaying trees,
scattering large heaps of dead leaves 10y
the way. During the six long years she
had spent III solitary confinement, the
Bretonne had lost the habit of walking.
Her joints were as if knotted and her
feet, unused to any but wooden shoes,
were cTamped in the leather ones she
had on. After getting over league OF
so of ground her heels were sorely blis-
tered and she felt already tired out. She
sank down on a heap of stones, shud-
dering at the thought that she might
have to die of cold and hunger in so
dark night, and with such nipping
blast that chilled her to the bone.
Suddenly, along the solitary read, and
in the pauses of the cold north wind,
she thought she heard the drawing
tones of somebody singing in the dis
tance. She listened eagerly and was
soon convinced that she caught
the sound of one of those dear,
monotonous snatches of nursery rhymes
with which children are nursed to sleep.
Rising to her feet she went III the dlrec-
ton of the voice, and at the turn of a
cross-road beheld q red light glimmer-
ing through the branches. Five min
utes after she reached clay built hovel,
the roof of which, covered with clods,
leaned against rock, and whose only
window gave passage to Pickering ray.
With anxious heart she resolved to knock
at the door. As soon as she had done
so the singing ceased and a peasant wo-
man came to the threshold.
She was of about the same age as the
Bretonne, but worn and wasted with
field labor. Her short gown, which was
rent In places, showed her dark, sun
burnt skin; her reddish hair fell in dis
order from underneath little cloth cap,
and her gray eyes looked with astOnish-
ment at the stranger, whose face had,
In fact, something unusual in its pallid
expression.
"dood evening, said the peasant wO-
man; raising the lamp she held in her
hand what do you want e.
I am ready to drop and can go no
further, murmured the Bretonne, with
sign OF deep anguish; "the town is
yet far of, and if you'd let me put mp